


Witchers Can Date Bards, Too

by Pearl09



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Everyone is an idiot, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Reverse Fake Dating, Winter At Kaer Morhen, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25446703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: Geralt invited Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the winter for two reasons. One, so they wouldn't have to be apart for so long. The other was so that Jaskier could meet the other witchers. There was just one problem - none of the witchers believe they are together.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 675





	Witchers Can Date Bards, Too

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! A quick warning, the implied smut is borderline M, but there's only one little scene and it's not brought up again. The idea came from some friends on discord after sharing a tumblr post with the idea of a reverse fake dating au, where no one believes the couple is dating, lol. Hope you enjoy!

“You really go to Kaer Morhen every winter? It’s some sort of routine for you?”

Geralt nodded, adding more kindling to the fire as he roasted some rabbits over it, trying to keep the flames high enough to cook them. Jaskier was seated next to him, and for once in the time they had known each other, seemed rather nervous.

“You all just – spend the winter there? Together? Like some big family reunion?”

“It’s easier than traveling town to town in the snow. A lot of monsters hibernate too.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Even though their dinner was cooking, Jaskier reached over for his lute, strumming it lightly and tuning it for what must be the tenth time that day, if not more.

“You’re nervous,” Geralt finally acknowledged, looking over at him, bemused.

“I am not. I have no idea what you’re talking about. There is absolutely no proof whatsoever–”

“You’re tuning the lute again,” he pointed out. “You haven’t been as talkative as normal. Have you even once asked me for an opinion on a song you’re working on?”

“Not like you’d give one anyway,” he muttered, but sighed and set the lute down next to him. “Alright, so perhaps I'm a touch nervous. But, can you blame me? You invited me to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen – which, to be clear, I am not complaining about, I love the gesture – but it’s basically asking me to meet your family over a shared meal except that meal will last a few months.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You will not have a problem getting along with the others at all. I’m sure of it.”

“And how could you possibly know that?” he pouted.

“Because somehow, you get along with me.”

Jaskier smiled at this, leaning over and pecking Geralt’s cheek. “Of course I do. As long as you don’t smell awful, because then cuddling is terrible.”

Geralt pushed his shoulder as he turned his attention back to the rabbits, earning a laugh from Jaskier as he half fell over from the force, catching himself with his elbow. His laughter brought a smile to Geralt’s face, which, no matter how small, was something Jaskier was quite proud of.

After simmering down and taking a proffered rabbit from Geralt, Jaskier asks once more, just to be sure, “You don’t think they’ll hate me?”

“They will only hate you if you give them reason to.”

“Great. That really eases my consciousness. Thank you so much, Geralt.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just eat, and then get some rest. I’m sure you’ll feel better about it in the morning.”

Jaskier did not feel better about it in the morning. In fact, he almost felt worse, because he knew they would be arriving at Kaer Morhen sometime today. Geralt had said it would be that afternoon, if everything went well. He wouldn’t back out of it though, eager to spend some time with Geralt where they weren’t being chased by monsters every hour, so he helped pack up camp and climbed onto the back of Roach, hugging Geralt from behind so he wouldn’t fall off.

After a while, he rested his head against Geralt’s back, looking off to the side as his mind internally screamed and ran around in circles, so he wasn’t paying attention to where they were going anymore. It wasn’t until Roach slowed down, in fact, that he had noticed they were even close, since Geralt didn’t usually talk on their rides. He lifted his head to see the castle in the distance, standing tall amidst the surrounding forests. It was wonderful, and even looked cosy, though from there, Jaskier could already see what Geralt had meant when he said the castle was in a state of disrepair.

“I can’t believe you’re this grumpy all the time when you get to live here for a quarter of the year,” Jaskier muttered, earning a grunt from Geralt in response.

The gate was open already, as if the other witchers knew that Geralt was going to arrive today. Jaskier barely managed to hold his tongue, wanting to ask if the witchers had some kind of mind link, but he knew it was a foolish question.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said as Roach strode in through the gate, stopping at a nearby feeding trough. 

“You really are just hidden away in your own little neck of the woods here, aren’t you?” Gracefully, he hopped off of Roach and started to stretch out his legs.

“Keeps us from being involved in too many political things.” With a thud, Geralt dismounted next to him, immediately reaching up to start pulling their bags from Roach. “Look sharp, someone’s headed over already.”

Jaskier spun around, wondering how Geralt knew when he couldn’t even see anyone else around them. 

“So the old man’s returned,” came a voice to his left, and finally, Jaskier spotted the other witcher. “We weren’t sure you were going to make it before the snow came in, Vesmir’s been pissy about it for days thinking a storm was bound to be here soon.”

“Hey, Lambert,” Geralt said, shoving a bag into his arms. “Carry this up to the castle for us, will you?”

“What do you think I am? A mule? I don’t even want to know what kinky shit you might be holding in here.” Finally, he realized that Jaskier was there. “What’s this?” he asked, looking him up and down, from the bright, possibly ostentatious outfit to the lute strapped to his back. “An emotional support bard?”

“I’m Jaskier,” he said, holding out his hand in greeting and slowly retracting it when Lambert just stared. “I am a bard, yes, but, well, I’m actually–”

“We’re together,” Geralt interrupted, getting to the point.

“Well of course you’re together, you arrived together. I’m not stupid.”

“What Geralt means is we’re dating,” Jaskier smoothed over with a pleasant smile, hoping to clear any confusion. “Involved. Together. Whatever you may wish to call it.”

For a second, it seemed that Lambert wasn’t going to say anything. The laughter he suddenly burst out into was completely unexpected, though, and Jaskier chuckled nervously with him.

“It's alright, Geralt,” he said once the laughter subdued. “We all know you're shit at feelings, so just call him your emotional support bard. You don’t have to make shit up.” With that, he turned back for the castle, the bag from Geralt in hand. 

“Well, wasn’t that – odd,” Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, turning to Geralt to help him with the rest. “Is he always like that?”

“Lambert’s a dick.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He paused, considering his next words carefully, before he asked, “Do you really think he didn’t believe us?”

“No idea. Come on, we should go before he throws our stuff in the lake.”

“He would do that?” He looked, if only slightly, terrified, wondering what he just signed up for. 

Geralt chuckled. “More than likely, no.”

His response did nothing to ease Jaskier’s nerves as he followed Geralt through the courtyards to the castle.

“I heard you brought a bard with you.” After a brief tour, Geralt had set them up in one of the bedrooms, and now, a new witcher entered the room. As Jaskier was busy organizing his clothes, he gave the witcher a quick wave of greeting while trying to refold a particularly expensive jacket so it didn’t wrinkle, but he was sure it was Vesemir from the stories he had heard. “I had to come see it for myself.”

“Not surprised Lambert told you.” Geralt greeted him, having already finished with the few belongings he had brought. 

“I was surprised to hear it, to be honest. You’re not usually the fun loving type. Maybe the place will be more lively this winter, and I’ll have more entertainment than waiting for you idiots to get drunk.”

“He’s not here for entertainment, Vesemir.”

“But he will gladly provide it if it is requested!” Finally finished with the jacket, Jaskier abandoned the rest of his clothes for a few minutes to introduce himself. “I’m Jaskier, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The same goes to you. It’s been a while since we’ve had any visitors to winter with us. Tell me, why did Geralt decide to bring you along?”

“Well, to meet you all, of course! You see, we’re a couple.” He said it with more confidence than he had with Lambert, which had been none, so, really, Geralt had to cast a glance at him to be sure he was okay.

“Yeah, a couple of idiots. Really, you had to travel with this much luggage? No wonder it took you so long to arrive.”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “Hmph. You all might be okay with smelling like a pig and wearing the same filthy rags every day, but a bard has class. Any good bard knows that to perform in the same outfit more than once a month means they’ll be a mockery for months, even though there is a perfectly good thing known as washing clothes.”

Geralt gently placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder to calm him down, silently communicating that he would handle it. But before Geralt could say anything, Vesemir took over the conversation.

“Noted. You do know we have more empty bedrooms, don’t you, Geralt? You didn’t have to put him up in yours. Or were you planning to sleep somewhere else? Maybe out in the stables with that horse of yours.”

“We’re sleeping here together,” Geralt said. “Because we are together. Jaskier and I are dating.”

Vesemir frowned at him, unimpressed.“Geralt, I’ve told you before, your jokes aren’t good. I’ll go get some food started, I’m sure you boys are starving.”

Geralt and Jaskier stared at him as he left, and once Jaskier was sure Vesemir was out of earshot, he muttered, “What is wrong with you witchers?” which earned him a gentle shove from Geralt.

Later, Jaskier had finally, _finally_ arranged all his clothes the way he wanted, as Geralt leaned against the wall and watched, because, “No no, don’t touch these clothes, you killed a wyvern yesterday and didn’t even wash your hands after… no, no, don’t leave me here by myself! I’ll get – lost! Or worse!”

Together they went back to the main floor of the castle, and Jaskier trailed behind Geralt as he led them to a crackling fire with a wooden picnic table in front of it. Vesemir was busy cooking something in a pot over the fire, and Lambert was already sitting at the table, arranging a deck of cards.

“Where’s Eskel?” Geralt asked as he sat down at the table across from Lambert, Jaskier silently sliding in next to him.

Lambert snorts. “Off chasing that stupid goat. It got free when he opened the door to the courtyard earlier. You’d think he’d be back now, but no, somehow, the fastest horse in the world can’t catch a fucking goat.”

“What’s the big deal about letting a goat out?” Both Lambert and Geralt turned to stare at Jaskier, who shrunk under their gaze. “I just – I mean, it’s a goat…”

“It’s Eskel’s pet,” Geralt said.

“He claims his horse, Scorpion, is the fastest in the world,” Lambert said, turning back to his cards. “But the minute that little goat fucker ran out, the horse seems as slow as a snail. He even gave the goat a stupid ass name too, and all it does is shit in the courtyard and eat the weeds that grow between the stones.”

“Lil Bleater.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but chuckle at the monotone way Geralt said the goat’s name. “Well, this Eskel fellow sounds like the most caring out of the lot of you, if he’s willing to keep a goat as a pet. And Scorpion sounds like a much better name than Roach.”

“I’ve told you before, Jaskier, I’m not going to give my horse a better name only to grow attached to it when there is a good chance every monster attack that the horse can die.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. This was a long time argument between the two, and Jaskier was determined to give his next horse a better name before it grew used to Roach.

“Up for a card game as we wait for the old man to cook?” Lambert asked, piling his cards back together once more and idly shuffling them in his hands. “I am still waiting on my chance to beat your ass, Geralt.”

“No, don’t get a game started,” Vesemir chided, turning from the fire. “This is almost done, and you know it’s no good cold.” 

Lambert rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything back. 

Bleating from the entrance caught everyone’s attention, and the last witcher walked in, petting the small, white goat cradled in his arms.

“Aw, Eskel, don’t bring that thing in here! It’ll shit all over the floor and piss on the books, and I’ll be stuck cleaning it up!”

“Geralt!” he said, ignoring Lambert and setting the goat down to scamper off into the castle. “You’ve finally made it! Just in time, too, clouds gathering on the horizon look like they’re going to bring in the frost.”

“Eskel,” Geralt greeted. “I see you found your goat.”

“Who is this?”

Jaskier cleared his throat. “Julian Alfred Pankr–”

“This is Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted. “He’s a bard. Let him talk and he’ll hold the conversation for hours all on his own.”

“Geralt invited me to stay for the winter.”

“Well, I guess we know now why Geralt keeps you around.” Vesemir brought the pot over and dropped it on the table with a large thud. “If you truly can keep a conversation going for that long, you must talk enough for the both of you.”

“I didn’t know Geralt liked music so much,” Eskel said, accepting a bowl as it was passed over. “Do tell, why a bard?”

“We’re together.”

“Mhmm. And Scorpion and Roach are together, too, out at the stable. Say, I can’t remember, did we ever get around to that race we said we would do?”

“Shut up and eat,” Vesemir said. “You can socialize once the food is gone, once you fools bring out that alcohol of yours.”

The table quickly grew quiet, only the sound of spoons scraping against their bowls and the thud of tankards resting on the table once more filling the silence. Jaskier leaned over to Geralt and murmured, “These witchers aren’t very bright, are they?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually.”

The days passed quickly, blurring into each other. The witchers had a strict training schedule – they trained every day, believing if they sat still for too long, they would lose their touch and slow down. Jaskier sat outside while they trained, as long as it wasn’t snowing, wrapped in layers and writing in his book. Most days, though, there was a certain distraction keeping him from making much progress on a new song or poem. Of course, that distraction was a certain someone, as he swung his sword and dodged obstacles deftly, and without a monster in the way to worry about.

After training, it was often time to make and prepare potions. The witchers liked to keep a stockpile handy, so they would cut up herbs and other ingredients they needed. They were weary to share their recipes with Jaskier, so he often paid them no mind, occasionally passing them something they needed and asked for, humming to himself or strumming his lute or finally writing those things he was trying to write earlier. 

Often, Jaskier would have to force Geralt to take a bath after that. He had gotten hot and sweaty while training, so he stunk worse than a pig who had just had a fresh mud bath. The others would make fun of him later for smelling good, of course, but Geralt didn’t mind. Plus, any time Jaskier was able to see Geralt with his shirt off was a good time indeed, in his books.

One morning, with light streaming in through the windows, glistening off of the freshly fallen snow, Jaskier woke with a sigh, trapped between Geralt’s arms. There was no use in trying to escape – if he even wanted to, he couldn’t. Instead he watched the icicles hanging just outside the windows, their tops melting but the water freezing over once more before it could make it to the bottom. It was a vicious cycle.

Behind him, Geralt shifted, eliciting a smile out of Jaskier when he pressed his lips to his neck. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you too, Geralt.”

“I’m not boring you by bringing you here, am I?”

He flipped over to face the other, his eyes drifting over Geralt’s white hair thrown aloof from the pillow. “Why would you ever imagine that?”

“Us witchers aren’t a very good audience for a bard. Especially when most of your songs are about me.”

Jaskier smoothed some of Geralt’s hair down and out of his face. “That doesn’t matter to me, Geralt. Lambert might think I’m trying to boast on your behalf, but what matters to me is that I’m here with you.”

“And how many times have you said that to your lute?”

“Okay, that’s not fair. I am trying to be serious here. Sure, you’re not the best audience, but instead of walking around from tavern to tavern in the cold, I can stay here and focus on making new songs to wow the masses when we return. I have you _and_ my lute by my side, what more could I possibly want?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He closed the distance between them, lips meeting lips, foreheads touching foreheads, noses brushing noses. The kiss deepened, tongues dancing with tongues now, and Jaskier’s eyes had fluttered closed at some point, enjoying what might be the best good morning kiss he had ever endured, and, if he was lucky, it would be a _really_ good morning.

Geralt pulled away suddenly, much to Jaskier’s disappointment and a growing uncomfortable feeling. His needy whine was cut off by Geralt’s frown as he sat up, listening. “Someone’s coming.”

Jaskier moved the thin sheet to cover himself like a woman caught in bed with her lover while Geralt stood and swiftly crossed the room, waiting with a keen ear by the door. A few moments later a knock rang out, reverberating on the wooden door. 

“Geralt?” Vesemir’s muffled voice echoed through. “I’m making a trip out to the caves to see if I can find some more mushrooms, we’re almost out. Eskel and Lambert are out hunting for food before Lambert takes his threat seriously and tries to cook the goat. You and the bard will have free range of the castle to do whatever you wish, though I do ask that you’d consider the repairs that still need to be done.”

Jaskier could hear his footsteps as he left, but Geralt stood by the door for a while longer, listening and waiting until he couldn’t hear him any longer.

“I guess we have the morning to ourselves,” Geralt said slyly, turning back around. “We’re free to do whatever we wish. Is there anything you can think of that you’d want to do?”

“You know, actually,” Jaskier said, standing and trailing the sheet with him to his belongings, “I thought you might enjoy this poem I wrote…” he yelped as Geralt picked him up from behind and brought him back over to the bed. A wry smirk crossed his face as Geralt climbed in after him, and truly, he could think of no better way to spend the beautiful, cold morning.

When the witchers returned, Geralt was finishing patching up a hole in the wall while Jaskier paced around him, talking and strumming his lute at the same time. There was a slight limp to his gait, imperceptible to any normal person but fairly clear with the enhanced eyesight of a witcher. They decided not to bring it up, for surely, he would spin it into some fanciful and elegant tale when he probably just tripped.

“Help us skin these so we can store them properly?” Eskel asked, holding up his catch for Geralt to see. He nodded and followed the other two to the kitchen area. Jaskier trailed behind like a duckling after his mother.

“You know, I think I’ve finally realized why you keep the bard around,” Lambert said after listening to another round of Jaskier’s songs. 

“Have you now?”

Jaskier didn’t want to look hopeful, so he pretended to fiddle with his lute as he listened in on the conversation.

“He’s your emotion translator! If I had known you were this boastful, I’d have fucking tried to kick you out long ago. I could understand if it was a leshen, but just a couple of drowners? You know we could all kill them in our sleep.”

Jaskier sighed. Of course he had been too hopeful. It truly seemed impossible for the witchers to get the hint. Maybe they would need to be more direct in order to finally convince them?

Geralt’s sigh was not only visible, but clearly audible, too. “Go fuck yourself, Lambert.”

“What, am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong, I beg you. Oh, right, you’re still claiming the two of you are ‘together’ or whatever. Just be honest, Geralt. We know you only fuck sorceresses.”

The knife in Geralt’s hand struck the table dangerously hard, wavering back and forth as the point stuck in the table. Geralt picked up the meat he had cut and took it to the next room without a word.

“That was too far, Lambert,” Eskel muttered. 

“What, you don’t agree with me? Let’s ask him then.”

Eskel turned his gaze to Jaskier and studied him for a few seconds as he watched the doorway Geralt had disappeared through, concerned. “Jaskier, what’s your take?”

His head jerked around at the mention of his name, for once not being called ‘the bard’. Even though he was usually so eloquent and quick to respond to anything, he needed a moment to compose himself. “When I first met Geralt, he was known as the Butcher of Blaviken. I promised to change the public’s attitude towards him. The first song I wrote about him brought me my fame. I only write about his adventures because they continue to please and intrigue the masses. Clearly, another witcher is not the ideal audience, but most people adore stories like these.”

Lambert huffed. “Well, it still doesn’t help that the bastard always keeps his feelings tight to himself, close to his chest. It’s hard to tell anything with him.”

“That doesn’t give you an excuse to tease him about it,” Eskel frowned. Lambert didn’t say anything, rolling his eyes and putting more force into his next cut than necessary. 

“Someone will have to clean all this up when we’re done,” he said, and that was the end to their conversation.

More days passed, more snowfalls filled the courtyards and covered the mountains, and still, the others were ignorant of their relationship. Jaskier was so close to giving up and kissing Geralt in front of them all to prove a point, but he knew they were both hesitant in their showcase of public affection. The way the human mind could interpret one little action, one little detail, in a million different ways, spinning rumors out of nothing, burying the truth with them. Rumors only grew, they never stopped, and neither of them wanted to accidentally create negative rumors to swirl about themselves in an ugly mist.

“Geralt, can you help me move these boxes?” Vesemir asked, gesturing to a few that were lining the wall. Jaskier had made sure to steer clear of them for a while ever since he found out the witchers were storing their excess bombs in them. “I want them out of here and put back in storage so I can work on the ceiling in here tomorrow.”

“Alright.” He got up from the table and left his tankard behind, following Vesemir's instructions as he followed him out of the room.

“Hey. Bard.”

Jaskier looked up from his ale. “What?”

Lambert slid another tankard over. “You should try this.”

He picked it up slowly, hesitantly, and swirled it around, watching the surface dance in the torchlight. “What is it?”

“It’s a – special brew I made myself. Go on, give it a taste. It won’t hurt.”

Jaskier was suspicious – Lambert seemed too eager about the drink for his intentions to be sincere, but he also didn’t want to upset anyone, and he was certain it wouldn’t poison him. Carefully, he raised it to his lips, watching the eager faces of Lambert and Eskel as he took a drink. Immediately he slammed it back onto the table, coughing as his free hand made its way to his chest. “What the fuck?”

“How is it?”

“It’s – _fuck_ , that’s strong. What did you make it out of?”

Lambert winked. “It’s a secret recipe. Sorry to tell you, but you’re not on the list of people who can know about it.”

He looked back down at the concoction. He could still taste it on his tongue. It enveloped his mouth, leaving a pleasant, lingering taste. It almost reminded him of Geralt. To the witcher’s delight, he took another drink.

Geralt grew suspicious as soon as he came back, laughter echoing off of the walls and bouncing around the room. Vesemir didn’t seem to mind it, though, so he didn’t bring it up.

“Geralt!” Eskel said when he returned, grinning. “Jaskier was just telling us some lovely stories.”

Lambert snorted. “Yeah, like all the embarrassing shit you’ve done that never made it into his songs.”

His eyes narrowed as they landed on Jaskier, who looked more aloof than normal.

“What about – about the time he fell offa Roach! Didn’t secure the saddle tight – tightly enough. Right off the side of the road, into a – oh what’er they called… nekker! A nekker nest.”

Geralt took the empty tankard from Jaskier as the others laughed, sniffing the remnants. “You gave him White Gull.”

“Yeah? And? We diluted it – a ton, it won’t do anything to harm him.”

“And now he’s drunk off his ass.” Geralt’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “He’s a lightweight. He’ll wake up with one hell of a hangover tomorrow, and it’s all we’re going to hear about.” He leaned over and started pulling Jaskier up. “Come on, let’s get you some water and get you in bed.”

“But I’m having fun!” He said, letting Geralt swing his arm around his shoulders.

“Yeah, stop being such a grumpy ass, Geralt. That’s Vesemir’s job.” Lambert looked to the other with a wry smile before turning back to the bard. “You don’t know for sure that any of that’s going to happen, so why worry?”

“Yes, I do. And you don’t want to go through it, trust me.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because I’m head over heels for him!” he roared, nose flared and lips curled in a grimace. “I am in love with this idiot, and none of you seem to fucking understand that!”

The other witchers stared at him, wide-eyed and silent. The silence was broken by a chuckle from Jaskier as he said, “I love you, too, you oaf.” He then kissed him, right on the line of his jaw. Geralt didn’t react, but, somehow, it made the other witchers even more shocked, frozen in place at the realization of just how much of an ass they had been.

“Say goodnight, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered, pulling him away.

“Goodnight, Jaskier,” he repeated with a giggle.

As predicted, he was incredibly hung over in the morning. So much, in fact, that he tried to send Geralt off to breakfast on his own, to leave him so he could waste away the day in bed. Geralt, however, insisted that Jaskier needed something to drink and eat to overcome the effects faster, forcing him up out of bed to get dressed.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” Geralt asked, helping the doublet up Jaskier’s arms.

“Not really.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why? Did I – no no, Geralt, that’s not the right button, you’ll make them all uneven – Did I say something embarrassing?”

“Not about you.”

“Oh, I embarrassed you, didn’t I. I’m sorry, I’m sure they pried it out of me.”

Surprisingly, Geralt was still smiling. “It’s alright. I think you said exactly what needed to be said.”

Jaskier didn’t understand what he meant, but his head was pounding as fast as his heart, so he didn’t ask for clarification, as he probably wouldn’t understand that, either. Once Geralt helped him dress to his standards, and he somewhat fixed his hair, Geralt led him down the stairs. He felt sick by the time they reached the bottom. Surely, there had to be a normal, non-spiral staircase somewhere in the castle that they could take back up.

It was quieter than normal, but instead of questioning it, Jaskier welcomed it. He plopped down on the bench as Geralt fixed him a plate and a drink, barely noticing the strange glances from the other witchers nearby. Once there was food in front of him and Geralt next to him, he ignored them entirely, scarfing the food down until he felt drowsy, like he could go back to sleep again. He closed his eyes and leaned over, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

He was almost asleep there before someone cleared their throat, startling him and causing him to practically leap off of Geralt, clutching at his head afterward because it did nothing to help the headache. In front of him was Vesemir, looking upset and – almost apologetic?

“We wanted to – apologize to the both of you.” Vesemir nodded between them. “We should have taken your words more seriously and not as a joke, especially when you kept insisting and repeating them.”

Oh. Was this something he had revealed last night? Must have been. He nodded blearily in acceptance, too tired to form any words.

“That means he accepts your apology,” Geralt said for him. “And I do as well. Next time, maybe it would do you good to remember that Eskel fucked a succubus.”

Eskel sighed. “Do we really need to bring that up again?”

“I thought you said he would be intolerable hung over,” Lambert said, gesturing to the sleepy Jaskier. “He barely looks like he can stand.”

“That’s because he’s not fully awake yet. Give it an hour, and you won’t hear anything but complaining.”

Jaskier frowned and pushed at Geralt, even though he knew he was right. “Can I just go back to bed?”

“Alright,” Vesemir said. “I suppose you two have earned a break, having to deal with us ever since you got here. Go and rest, but I expect to see both of you in tip top shape tomorrow morning.”

“Both of us?” Jaskier asked, his brow furrowed.

“Well, if you’re going to continue to travel with Geralt, it might be easier if you at least know how to wield a sword. Unless you want wild wolves nipping at your ass again.”

Chuckles spread around the table, and Jaskier grew red. “I thought you said I didn’t embarrass myself.”

Geralt smiled. “I must have missed that one. Come on, let's get you back to bed.”

He complied, letting Geralt half drag him back up the stairs, take off the doublet, and lay him back in the bed. “Make sure you fold that right,” he mumbled, but he was certain he would have to check it again later before it wrinkled. A few moments passed and the bed shifted underneath him. Geralt’s warm body pressed into him from behind as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

Sunlight drifted in through the windows, and the distant sound of steel hitting steel could be heard, but as Jaskier drifted off to sleep once more, all he could think about was how lucky he was to love and be loved by someone like Geralt.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [here on tumblr!](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com/)


End file.
